


Universe

by novahainn



Series: One [5]
Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: Afterlife, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bittersweet, Canonical Character Death, Edelweiss AU, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Lohentutu Week 2018, Not Canon Compliant, Reunions, Tragic Romance, im getting used to this tagging themes stuff, read author's note for a vague explanation as to what edelweiss au is, some fluff but not enough to hurt your teeth worry not, spoiler: edel is tutu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 23:12:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16376840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novahainn/pseuds/novahainn
Summary: In which Edel makes a choice and falls into long-awaiting arms.





	Universe

**Author's Note:**

> The second of my two LohenTutu week Day 7 oneshots! This one is from another one of my AUs, based on a theory (also on my tumblr novahainn though it's way down but search Edel and it'll come up) that Edel is the original Tutu from the story (summary: when she vanished, that was actually Drosselmeyer taking her soul and he put it into the puppet, in very basic terms). Lohengrin's mint strands in his hair are dyed (magic, duh) from a time Edel mentioned how much she hated her hair colour and he dyed strands of his own hair to make her feel better. His hair is black, so the idea is that his black hair mixed with the mint coloured hair makes Fakir's dark green hair when he reincarnates; thus, Fakir looks like Lohengrin and Edel's son. This also makes Uzura like his actual real life sister rather than an adopted puppet sister, in a way. It's hard to explain, but someday I plan to write a whole fic about it, so I'll link it on this when I do. Hope you enjoy!

Edel blinks down at the still figure on the cobblestones before looking left and right for something, anything, that could guide her. If I had emotions, she thinks solemnly, I would probably be worried right now. Fakir groans, shivering in the biting cold, drenched through and drunk on the pain of his many wounds. Edel had watched over Drosselmeyer's shoulder as Kraehe's minions tore through the poor boy, and for the first time in… well, who knew how long it had been, she had snuck away through the shadows and disobeyed her master's orders. She knows he is watching her. No matter how enthralling the battle of wills between Tutu and Kraehe is, Edel knows he is always watching. Waiting.

Something gleams off to the left — a lone torch. She sprints, all of her usual grace discarded just like her usual guard. Although she cannot feel the panic, she knows that she should, and she knows that she must act quickly. She skids to a halt next to Fakir again, holding the torch close to his body and watching the effect. After a beat, he curls towards it, whimpering slightly, tucking his arms and legs closer to his body until he mimics a foetal position. Edel sighs; the torch is not enough, and there is no wood anywhere nearby.

An ember falls onto her hand, singing the paint on her wooden body. She doesn't feel it, only wipes it off, before staring down at the ashen mark close to her thumb. She pauses. Certainly the desired effect of warming Fakir would be achieved, but what of her soul? There is no Oak Tree left to build her a body from, but she doesn't put it past Drosselmeyer to store her soul in a jar or some odd contraption, or even to use the other twig-like puppets he had made to "keep her company". "Either way," she mumbles, putting the torch down to nudge Fakir back into lying down straight, "I have no choice. I must save him."

She picks up the torch again, holding it against her chest. A plume of smoke twists into the dark sky.

* * *

She watches Tutu — Ahiru — and Mytho dance, the phantom ballerinas pirouetting around them, the feathers in their hair fluttering in the light breeze. Fakir sits over by the fountain, hunched over, smiling just a little as he watches the performance. Edel observes him as the firelight casts striking shadows across his features, his green eyes slightly dimmed of their usual intensity due to exhaustion. She notes his sharp jawline and his loose, dark hair. Dark green. It seems that Lohengrin's few dyed strands filtered into his reincarnation along with his black hair. She remembers the strands, dyed with some sort of concoction to look like her own mint-coloured hair, mingling with the darker strands in his long ponytail. And here Fakir sits with dark green hair, almost as if… as if he were our child.

The realisation ploughs straight into her chest, leaving her unable to breath for a few moments before she blinks again. She curses Drosselmeyer under her breath for mocking them so. She stares at the boy, committing his every feature to memory, just in case the stories of the deceased watching over their loved ones aren't true at all. The carbon copy of Lohengrin, save for his hair. She struggles to swallow the lump in her throat. She curses Drosselmeyer again for allowing her to feel, now of all times. He did it on purpose; the man revells in tragedy. She wipes at her eyes in vain as the tears well up again. She looks up to see the mist closing in, shrouding the dancers in thick fog as it billows through the plaza. She swallows, she takes a deep breath. Be still, my heart. Be still. We have waited for this. The time has come. She glances at Fakir one last time before he too is engulfed, though not before he throws a look over his shoulder towards her fire. "My… son," she gasps, wretched, before sputtering and covering her mouth with her hand as she muffles her sobs. Her hand feels smaller, less solid. Her hair is no longer in that ridiculous hairstyle and is tied up in her usual high bun. She is small, her dress longer and bigger, pooling around her as her knees buckle and she drops to the floor, her voice younger when she whimpers.

All is silent around her as she cries as quietly as she can, the mist shifting like running water. The ground is odd — somehow, it feels both smooth and rough at once, digging into her knees painfully. She is alone. She is alone. Just like in the clockwork world with Drosselmeyer taunting her, she is completely and utterly alone. No prince, no knight, no could-have-been son… He did it again, she thinks wryly, sniffling. He took Lohengrin from me just as I realised it, and now again. He knew from the start. I never defied him after all. She removes her hand and wails pathetically, her head thrown back. Her cries echo through the empty, foggy space. She is alone.

Arms curl around her from behind.

She jumps, suppressing a shriek and only squeaking as a familiar voice says, "You made it, Edel."

She chokes on her renewed tears. "Lohen?" she blubbers, trying to turn in his embrace.

"I came to pick you up," he says. She sags, falling into his lap, gasping. He chuckles. "I've been watching over you."

"Y-You have?" she asks shrilly, the wise tone she had as a puppet completely lost among her burning pieces. She twists, sitting sideways to look up at him. He looks just like he did when she last saw him; the same long hair tied over his shoulder, mint strands and all, the green eyes soft and playful.

He quirks a dark eyebrow. "Did you think I'd leave you all alone?"

"No! That is…" she pauses for a moment, for the first time realising just how similar she and Ahiru truly are, "I didn't think you could. That Drosselmeyer would let you."

"That old windbag? Please. He can't control the dead." The statements sinks in, stirring her spirits from their dark abyss. He seems to notice. "You're free, Edel."

Her spirits, rather than lifting, stay put as she mumbles, "Fakir."

Lohengrin sighs. "Yes. I saw."

"He's… He looks like...!"

"I know," he whispers, stroking her head soothingly. "You don't have to say it. I know. We'll watch over him, too."

"We can?"

"Yes."

Her throat stays tight, her eyes welling up with tears for an entirely new reason as she looks up at him once more. "I thought I'd never see you again," she manages to choke out before sobbing into her hand.

Lohengrin says nothing. Instead, he shifts her off his lap so that she is sitting in front of him, facing him, and clasps her hands. She sniffles, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He kisses her knuckles, letting them drop into her lap but not letting go and looking up at her again. The look fixes her in place, breathless. Earnest. "No matter what universe we may find ourselves in, I will always find my way back to you."

She nods, eyes tightly shut as streams of tears flow, her long eyelashes dripping. He squeezes her hands, then pulls her slowly to her feet, letting go of one hand and pulling her along next to him. "Come on, cheer up. They're waiting for us." She nods again, pottering after him, their unspoken words grasped firmly between interwoven fingers and etched deep into her blooming heart.


End file.
